Master plans

As I recently mentioned a time or two, Andrea turned 25 last week. With that milestone, she swears she's having a "quarter-life crisis."

"I've not accomplished any of the things I planned to accomplish," she cried to me over the phone.

"Luckily you still have plenty of time left to do those things," I told her.

"But I'm TWENTY FIVE! I'm getting old!" she whined.

My response? "Don't give me any of that bull cuss," I roared back at her said in my sweet, understanding-mama voice. "Telling me you're too old to accomplish a few goals is insane. I'm nearly twice your age and I have lots of things I still plan to do, so don't even tell me you're too old to accomplish your goals."

My freakout kind and gentle manner shut her up ... sort of. I think she just figured I'm old and crotchety and don't know what I'm talking about, being at such an advanced age and all. That or she figured she'd caught me on one of those days when that menopause thing was lurking around the corner.

Well, just for the record, I do still have lots of goals.

For starters, here's my list of skills I've learned a teensy bit about and plan to improve immensely upon in the next 50 or so years (don't want to put too tight of a deadline on it, of course):

• picture-book writing and publishing
• photography
• swimming
• Photoshop
• piano playing
• gardening
• bird identification
• pizza dough spinning

I've dabbled a bit in all of the above. My plan is to master each and every one of those, not just check the "tried this" or "done that" box next to each.

But that's not all. No, no, no. As I reach the likely mid-point of my life, I plan to give a few new pursuits a spin as well, things I want to learn simply for my own edification -- and to dazzle the diapers and denims off all my grandchildren to come! Here's just a small sampling from that list:

• juggling
• bird calls
• skipping stones across the lake (This one will require regular access to water -- a scarce commodity up here in the mountains -- but I'll figure that part out.)
• grow a Venus fly trap ... and watch it eat a snack
• peel an apple in one continuous peel
• fold nifty origami animals from dollar bills and regularly leave them as tips for restaurant waitstaff

See? I have plans, baby! Master plans!

Now I just need to master a few time-management skills. That or maybe I'll simply learn to write a picture book about juggling apples as I peel them before tossing the continuous peels to my Venus fly trap in order to free up my hands for skipping stones on the lake I just swam across while identifying birds and mimicking their calls on the piano that stands in my garden filled with peonies and origami woodland animals, all of which I will photograph and perfect with Photoshop for publication in a picture book.

Then I'll nix the dough-spinning goal and just go out for pizza. Sometimes a gal -- even an old gal like myself -- must admit her limitations.

Today's question:

What skills do you plan to master in upcoming years?

Three cheers for my third child

Today my baby is 25 years old. Get that? TWENTY-FIVE! My baby! Who's no longer a baby! (And who wishes I'd get that through my thick head!)

Andrea was born 25 years ago today, forever changing the makeup of our family, the makeup of my heart. She's my wild child -- and readily admits it! -- my child who dares to be different and manages to make different look so good.

Not long ago I wrote a post for the soon-to-be-defunct Rocky Mountain Moms Blog about the challenges -- and charms -- of the third child. In honor of my Andie, this is that post:

Three's a charm ... and a challenge

A friend recently had her second child and when I went to meet the little guy, one of the topics of conversation was how integrating the new baby into the family hasn't been as difficult as she thought it might be. No, the second baby isn't all that hard, I told her. It's the third child that completely upsets the family balance.

I've told many people this throughout the years. As a mother of three girls, all born in relatively quick succession, I learned 24 years ago when baby No. 3 arrived on the scene that going from one to two babies, while initially a juggling act, was doable without any major trauma or drama, but the transition from two babies to three was -- and continues to be -- one of my greatest challenges as a mom.

"But you already had two," people marvel. "How could it be that much more difficult to add one more to the fold?"

It's a matter of logistics, I counter. Mom has two hands, which is one short when there are three babies. In a home with two parents, there are exactly that: two parents. If all kids are in need of attention, who gets left out? Mom can take care of one, Dad can take care of another, and the third has to hold that thought and wait until Mom or Dad is free and ready to offer belated comfort.

Dinner tables are best suited to an even number of chairs, most typically four. When baby No. 3 comes along, a bigger table needs to be purchased, a table that seats five. But tables aren't made for an odd number, so a table for six is required.

Same goes for the family vehicle. Two kids work just fine in the backseat of nearly any car. But transporting three kids requires a larger vehicle.

And don't even get me started on visiting play areas or, in the later years, amusement parks. Rides at amusement parks are typically made for two; Mom can sit with one child, Dad with another. Which leaves one kiddo -- or one parent -- riding alone or watching from the gate.

Travel by plane presents a similar problem.

So yeah, having the third child requires a bit more thought, planning, and cost.

But the payoff makes up for that.

Siblings argue, that's all there is to it. Having a third kiddo in the group means that if two are arguing, there's always another playmate waiting in the wings.

Another advantage of three kids: easy lessons in the democratic process. Majority rules and an uneven number in the group makes it very clear early on that every vote counts and can change the outcome of family votes, be it for vacation places, what to watch on television or what to have for dessert.

But one of the best things about having three children? The realization that three truly is a crowd -- which makes for the absolute best-ever group hugs, as six arms squeezing one Mommy are so much better than four.

When it comes to kids, yes, three's a challenge. But more importantly, three is forever a charm.

  ~ Originally posted on Rocky Mountain Moms Blog March 21, 2010

Yep, Andrea was the third, the challenge, the good luck charm. She remains all three.

She continues to be the one to raise eyebrows, to rock boats, to make me laugh the loudest, cry the hardest, worry the most.

She and I -- so very much alike in so many ways, so very much Cancers -- butt heads ferociously ... yet love each other fiercely.

She's my favorite third child, my sweet baby Andie, my strong, independent woman.

She's my friend. She's my birthday girl. She's the one for whom I wish the very, very happiest of birthdays ever!

I survived Desert Party 2010

When Megan and Preston moved to the desert, Jim and I told them we would never visit them there in the summer. It's too darn hot, we don't like the heat, we'll gladly stick to the mountains in the summer and visit them in the desert during the winter.

Then they went ahead and had Bubby in June. Meaning Jim and I must visit the desert in the summer if we want to participate in Bubby's birthday celebrations.

Last year, Bubby's first birthday, wasn't so bad. As several babies were in attendance, the party was held indoors, we had air-conditioning. Megan's announcement that his second birthday party would be held at the Splash Pad -- outdoors! -- was cause for concern. Temps in their town hover above the 100-degree mark this time of year, and Jim and I were pretty darn sure we'd die ... even though the party was held at 10 a.m.

Luckily we didn't die during last Saturday's party. In fact, the temperature was low, spirits were high and the party was a great time -- for everyone. Take a look:

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN!

Here's hoping Desert Party 2011 will be just as cool ... in terms of temperature and enjoyment!

Today's question:

If you could party with anyone -- living or not, real or imaginary -- who would you most like to celebrate with?

My answer: Ricky Gervais would be my party partner of choice, with Jim along, too, of course. I'm pretty sure he'd make me laugh so hard my ribs would hurt for days.

Two thumbs up

As I've mentioned before, we are a movie-going family. We love movies and we love going to them together, sharing the cinematic experience.

Bubby went to his first movie with me and Jim (and Megan and Preston, of course) when he was just days old. We saw "Wanted" with Angelina Jolie. He did great: no crying, no screaming, no fussing. Grandma didn't do as well. "Wanted" is an insanely loud film, with gunfire, explosions and more, and I spent the entire time worrying that we had made a huge mistake in taking Bubby with us and that we'd ruined our brand-new grandson's hearing beyond repair. But he seems to have done just fine with it and (as usual) my fears were unfounded.

We also took Bubby to his second movie: "The Dark Knight." Again, it was a loud movie. But as he was just one year old, he did okay with it, pretty much sleeping through the whole thing. I do believe Megan had to do a little walking around with him, but nothing outrageous, nothing to curb the movie going.

So we took him again. To see the last "Indiana Jones" movie. No major problems there. Bubby seemed to do quite well with the adult fare. Although from that point on, Bubby hasn't joined us -- or his parents -- for a film. Common sense prevailed over our movie fanaticism, and we didn't want to reach a point where Bubby would actually cry during a movie and upset other viewers who had paid a high price to watch a big show on the big screen.

This past weekend, while Jim and visited for Bubby's second birthday, we decided to forego the adult fare and give Bubby a shot at seeing a film on his level ... with popcorn and all ... and trillions of other kids in attendence. We went to see "Toy Story 3". And Bubby loved it!

He patiently awaited the beginning of "the big show," sitting nice and tall --and quiet -- in his booster seat:

Once the big show began, he watched ... and watched ... and watched ...

... until he didn't want to watch anymore. But in all fairness, his antsy-pants didn't kick in until about 15 minutes before the movie ended. And he had Grandpa to visit when the antsy-pants kept him from sitting in his seat.

All in all, Bubby's first real movie-going experience was a success. This final scene says it all:

Yep, a true success! 

Next up: subtitles! He's already such an advanced movie-goer that I don't see it being long before subtitled fare is on the bill.

Looks like we'll be keeping this kid in the family!

Today's question:

What's the first movie you remember seeing at the theater or drive-in?

My answer: "Benji" on a school field trip.

Bubby's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Today is Bubby's birthday. He's two. Instead of partying til the cows come home, though -- or the javelinas, as the case may be in the desert -- Bubby is recovering from what Megan said he surely must consider the very worst day of his life.

Bubby woke up early Wednesday morning with a fever of 104.7. That's one-hundred-four-point-seven! Panic level. Mama Megan called the doctor and the doctor said, "Get him in."

So in Bubby and Megan went, and for the next several hours Bubby underwent a strep test, blood tests, chest X-rays, and two attempts at collecting urine via a catheter. Poor baby. In fact, toward the end of the long, long visit, Bubby expressed his dismay to Megan by telling his mommy, "Baby sad. Baby sad."

Right off the bat, Bubby tested positive for strep. The quest for proof of a UTI causing the high fever went unresolved as the timing of the catheter insertion never seemed to coincide with the call of nature. The results from the blood tests and chest X-rays were ordered STAT and sure to arrive within two hours, Megan was told. But apparently STAT doesn't mean what it used to, so after spending about five hours at the doctor's office and various labs, Megan was told to just take Bubby home and she'd be called with the results.

Just before 5 p.m. the call came and the diagnosis was given. Turns out Bubby has something in one of his lungs called "air-space disease" that either has developed or may develop into pneumonia. To me, "air-space disease" sounds a little like some covert operation NORAD should be involved in, but I guess that's not the case. According to Wikipedia, air-space disease "is a general term that described edema and exudates in the airspaces of the lung (the acini and alveoli)." Clear as mud, I say.

Seems the blood tests confirm there's something definitely going on, as they show "a high number of the blood cells that fight infection."

Treatment is the same as if Bubby indeed has pneumonia: round after round of amoxycillin, Motrin and Tylenol. Of course, Bubby didn't want to take the first dose, so Megan followed the technique of effective mothers throughout history: She threatened him. "If you don't take this," she told him, "we will have to go right back to the doctor." Bubby swallowed the yucky stuff in no time flat.

End of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Sort of. That night wasn't all that wonderful either, Megan reported.

That was Wednesday, this is Friday. Today Bubby returns to the doctor for a follow-up. I'm crossing my fingers it's a far less painful day than Wednesday. And I'm crossing my fingers Bubby will be up and at 'em by next week. For that's when the real birthday partying til the javelinas come home -- or the two-year-olds wear out -- is scheduled.

And that's when Grandma and Grandpa are scheduled to arrive to hug and kiss and cuddle a hopefully no longer sad baby, and to wish him the most wonderful, pleasant, all happy, very good birthday ever!

Happy birthday to the bright and beautiful Bubby who totally rocks this grandma's world!

Today's question:

What's the worst medical procedure you've undergone?

How to survive being a long-distance grandma ... of a baby

Bubby celebrates his second birthday this week, which means I've made it a full two years playing grandma from 819 miles away. At first I didn't think I would make it -- at least not without a maxed-out credit card from hundreds of flights to visit Bubby or hundreds of visits to a therapist to help me deal with the distance.

It was upon learning I'd be a grandma that I fully grasped the definition of the word 'bittersweet.' I was thrilled to have a grandbaby on the way, but it literally hurt my heart to know I'd be only a minor player in the baby's daily life, due to distance. My search for books and websites related to my plight turned up primarily information on how to stay connected to grandchildren of a more advanced age, very little on connecting with a newborn or baby.

So I plodded along, making up my own rules, my own way of coping with the distance between myself and my newborn grandson. Now that time has passed and I'm a seasoned long-distance grandma of a baby -- a baby who has grown into a toddler -- I feel qualified to pass along a few tips on how I survived the less-than-ideal situation, in hopes of helping other grandmas dealt the same bittersweet hand I was two years ago.

Get there often ... with permission. Visit the websites of the airlines that provide service between you and the little one, then sign up for their newsletters highlighting special deals. Take advantage of those deals, visiting as often as your budget -- and the baby's parents -- allow. Never, ever surprise the little family with a visit, though, as there's nothing more unnerving than unexpected guests, even when it's Grandma.

Use that webcam. Most newer computers come with a built-in webcam; learn to use it to Skype on a regular basis. Sure, the baby can't interact much in the first year or so, but you can see live shots of the little one. And slowly but surely that baby will sprout into a toddler and be happy to see Grandma's smiling face on the monitor. It's the next best thing to being there.

The telephone still comes in handy. Mom and Dad are busy raising Junior and won't have as much time to sit in front of the webcam as you'd like. So telephone calls are great for quickly touching base and keeping your voice top of mind for the baby -- as long as Mom or Dad don't mind holding the receiver up to the ear of the oblivious kiddo.

Can't beat Picasa for pictures. Save Mom and Dad some time -- and some long-winded begging from you for photos of the baby -- by encouraging the use of Picasa. If they'll upload photos on a regular basis, you can download them to your computer then print any and all those you want for framing and displaying, all without Mom or Dad having to pay for printing and/or postage. Picasa also makes it possible to display the photos on your computer desktop. I'd be lost without Picasa ... or at least just really sad and lonely for my Bubby.

Send pictures of yourself to be placed in baby's view. As soon as Bubby was born, I got busy creating a photo frame to be placed in his room so he could see it on a regular basis. The words "My Grandma & Grandpa" outline the photo of me and Jim, providing a constant reminder of Grandma and Grandpa, despite the miles between us.

A mommy or daddy blog ups the ante. Some grandparents advise others to get on Facebook with their adult children to make it simple to share photos and news of the grandkids. To me, that's not private enough; I don't like that all the "friends" on either end, some not really friends at all, just mere acquaintances, can see everything shared. Yeah, privacy settings can be set to the max, but it's much more private and personal when Mom or Dad create a blog for sharing the news with real friends and family. Blogger.com is an easy and free place to blog and integrates well with Picasa. Plus, a blog creates a wonderful record of the baby's growth.

Give them space, stay outta their face. The baby is the most important thing in lives of the new mom and dad right now, not pleasing grandma. Despite all the opportunities for making yourself a part of the baby's life, don't make a nuisance of yourself just because you simply can't get enough of that kid. Be happy with what you're given, and don't take offense if it's not as much as you'd like. 

Get busy. As noted above, you don't want to be a thorn in the side of the new parents, and the best way to avoid being one is to get on with your life. Find other things to keep you busy, other things to take your mind off missing your grandchild. Racking up experiences unrelated to grandparenting makes you a much more interesting -- and happy -- person, which goes a long way in making the moments you do have with your grandchild far more enjoyable.

Being a long-distance grandma of a baby is harder on the heart than it looks, but you can survive. I did. There really is no other choice. But take heart that there really is a light at the end of the tunnel, for the older your grandchild gets, the easier it is to stay connected, despite those unforgiving miles in between.

Today's question:

What do you consider the ideal distance for adult children to live from their parents?

My answer: I definitely don't want my kids living next door or even on the same block -- we all need a little space -- but my preference would be for my daughters to live a max of a one-hour drive away. Hey, I can dream!

Skyping 'bout school

(Not from Skype, but the happy face that filled the screen just the same.)

Bubby is attending "school" this week, participating in the summer camp for two-year-olds at church while Megan works the VBS. He loves the class, the interaction with the "teacher" and other kids, and he had lots to share with us about his day during our Skype session Tuesday night.

First he held up to the web camera his newly planted flower: a Play-Doh container packed with dirt, and somewhere within, a seed he's hoping will bloom. Relying on Megan to translate, Bubby told Grandma and Grandpa all about the "dirt," the "flower" and "water." We kinda sorta understood those words ... as long as Megan repeated them for us.

Next up was a picture of which Bubby was oh-so proud: A popsicle-stick frame embellished with glued-on buttons perfectly complementing a plant picture cut from a magazine. High art for a toddler!

Seems that "plants" was the theme of the day, and Bubby learned lots about plants in his few hours of "school." And he was more focused than usual during the Skype session, as he wanted to be sure Grandma and Grandpa heard -- and saw -- all he had gleaned from the day.

It was pretty exciting on our end to get our first glimpse of what it will be like when Bubby calls us up after a day of real school, to animatedly share via Skype the news -- and art projects -- of the day.

Only thing is, Bubby and Grandpa will have to come up with some other male-bonding motion by that time, as doing "knucks" at the end of the conversation already rocks and knocks the computer monitor on Bubby's end. I can only imagine what it will do when it's a five-year-old -- or older -- punching fists on the screen with Grandpa!

Today's question:

When recalling doing art projects as a child, what's one thing that stands out in your mind?

My answer: The smell of the paste. I remember the tubs of paste with a stick applicator attached to the lid and trying to spread the goo where it needed to go. Of course it never applied smoothly, thanks to the rigid stick, so cutouts glued to paper always had a lump here and there. I loved squishing down those bumps of glue, releasing the sweet scent of a masterpiece in the making.

Bikes, trikes and big boy beds

Bubby tackled two big milestones this past week: getting his first bike and moving out of the crib and into a big boy bed.

The bike, actually a trike, was a birthday gift from his paternal grandparents.

He's still getting the hang of the coordination for the pedaling, Megan said. But I have no doubt that he'll have it down in no time!

The move from the crib to the big boy bed didn't actually require a move at all, just a conversion of his crib. (Smart designing of cribs nowadays, wouldn't ya say!)

Megan said the first night went fantastic. She told Bubby it was bedtime, he crawled up in place, and he stayed there all night long! There was no crying, no waking in the night, no falling out and bonking his head.

That shouldn't be too surprising, of course, because I've probably mentioned before that Bubby is absolutely perfect!

With the exception, I should add, of the position in which he sleeps!

Today's question:

TGIF! What are your plans for the weekend?

Roller Bubby

The skater boy. (Phone photo sent to Grandma in real time!)Megan, a pre-K teacher, had her first roller skating night with her students Wednesday night.

It was also her first roller skating experience with Bubby!

Believe it or not, they make itsy-bitsy Fisher Price roller-skates for tots. And the PR woman for the local roller rink told Megan that two-year-olds actually learn to skate quicker than four- or five-year-olds. Reason being, according to the PR woman, that the little ones have shorter legs and less fear. I'm not sure why, but the 'shorter legs' part struck me as funny.

So Megan took her shorter-legged little Bubby along for the event. And he did great! It took him a bit to get used to the skates and to not be shy around the bigger kids, but Megan said he eventually got the hang of it. His lack of smiles and giggles stumped Megan a bit, though, so she asked her serious-faced little boy, "Are you having fun? Do you like it?" to which the concentrating kiddo said only, "I like it!"

All in all, Bubby fell just twice in his four times around the rink. That's four times around a big ol' rink for a little boy who's not yet two years old and not yet three feet tall. Oh, and who has shorter legs!

I find it interesting that of all the things that have changed in the past 30, 40, 50 years, that roller skating is still a hit with the kids. Consider the changes in nearly all aspects of childhood, everything from 3D ultrasounds and diaper genies to fancy-schmancy game systems and cell phones. But slapping on a pair of wheels and whizzing around a rink still appeals. Even in the disastrous economic climate of the last year or two, roller skating rinks prevail.

As a preteen, I loved roller skating night. It meant so much more than just skating. The outings weren't school-sponsored, as there was no rink in our small town, but my best friend's mom was happy to transport a group of giddy preteens "down the pass" from our mountain town to the city, to Skate City -- the old Skate City ... with all-wood floors.

Fifteen or so kids would hop in the back of Miss Leona's pickup in the late afternoon and huddle under the piles of blankets to stay warm. (Note: I would never in a million years allow my daughters to ride in the back of a pickup. But this was back in the days when people did that. Legally.) On the trip down the pass, the girls would be on one side of the truck, the boys on the other. (Yes, it was co-ed. But again, it was back in the day ... when hanky-panky between preteens wasn't even a consideration.)

Travel time was about 30 minutes, but it felt like hours as our excitement would reach fever pitch. Finally, we'd reach Skate City, spill out of the truck and into the rink, where we'd don our skates and scatter to the floor. Some of us were pros on the floor, crossing over feet at the turns, skating backwards, winning the limbo and speed contests, attracting the attention of the city kids with our prowess.

I wasn't one of those kids. I usually stayed within arm's length of the wall for the first hour or so, then eventually ventured out closer to the center. Near the end of the two-hour session I could even get up enough speed to get my long hair fluttering as I'd whiz (relatively speaking, that is) around the corners ... sometimes even managing to cross over my feet on the turns. And sometimes I'd even be asked to join hands with an equally awkward preteen boy for the slow skate.

Then the session would be over.

We'd all pile back into the truck and under the blankets for the trip back up the pass. It was far colder by that time and the huddling was a little more intimate than during the trip down. The girls' legs became entangled with the boys' and we'd all laugh and joke, keeping our heads under the blanket trying to stay warm and out of the wind.

It was joyous, innocent fun, those nights at the roller skating rink. And I'm thrilled to know the roller skating rituals continue, that Bubby will experience the wind in his own wheels. Starting at such a young age, I can only assume he'll be one of those preteens who can skate backward, win the limbo, dominate the speed contests. That's just a guess, of course.

But all guessing aside, I can pretty much guarantee that Bubby will never, ever, ever get to the rink by riding in the back of a pickup truck. That part of roller-skate nights has definitely changed.

Some changes of the last 30, 40, 50 years are for darn good reason!

Today's question:

When was the last time you roller skated?

My answer: Probably 20 years ago, when helping the girls around the rink during their first roller skating nights in elementary school. Gah! Get me to a rink quick, before I get too old!

Reason #37 why distance matters

Bubby LOVED his 1st Birthday cake!Bubby will soon be turning two years old. Very cool, very exciting ... and very frustrating because he's so darn far away.

Although there are still weeks between now and the big day, mere weeks means time is ticking away for those of us wanting to book a ticket to fly in for the festivities. Meaning many of the conversations of late with Bubby's aunts revolve around "Are you going?" Meaning: "Can you afford to pay to fly in for cake and ice cream this year? And will this be the plan every year? Will you forever going forward be able to fork out funds -- and vacation days -- to sing Happy Birthday to our precious Bubby?"

Jim and I will go. Definitely. Each and every year. Probably. But Andrea and Brianna may not be able to fly to the desert to celebrate Bubby's birthday each and every year. Especially once they're entrenched in their own families -- or even long-term relationships -- because then there's the question of "Does the whole family go?"

Yes, I know that not all families gather 'round for each and every birthday. But my family likes to, as much as possible.

And it's not as if Megan's planning some huge shebang for Bubby, like the festivities for his first birthday. And she clearly understands that cost is a major hindrance to attending even the smallest of affairs. She's attached no obligation, no hard feelings for those who can't make it.

But the thing is, we all want to make it. We all want to celebrate the major milestones of Bubby's life. But all the cuss miles between us make that difficult. And frustrating. And reason to lament, once again, that Megan and Preston live in the desert while the rest of us live in the mountains.

Guess it's easier -- and more reasonable -- to lament that than to lament that we've not yet won Powerball or Publishers Clearing House (or a ridiculously lucrative book contract), which would make the miles between us irrelevant. For if we were rich, we wouldn't have to consider dollars. Or days off work.

Or distance.

Today's question:

If money were no consideration, to where would you most want to book a plane ticket?